Max!
Uh-huh?
Ready to concede?
No!
I thought as it's
your last night here,
it only appropriate that we
open something extra special.
Bandol.
Excellent choice.
Tempier Bandol, 1969.
The kind of wine that'll pickle
even the toughest of men.
I once saw a Castilian prizefighter
collapse in a heap
after drinking just a single glass.
Perhaps my knee landing
squarely in his testicles...
...may have been partly to blame.
What was I talking about before?
You said the importance
of a good blue suit
can never be overstated.
Quite right.
A blue suit is the most
versatile of accoutrements.
More important
than the suit itself
is the man who fits it for you.
Once you find a good tailor,
you must never
give his name away,
not even under the threat
of bodily harm.
(music continues in background)
Now, where were we?
- Whose turn is it?
- Mine.
Uh-huh.
Uh-huh.
Max, have I told you why I enjoy
- making wine so much?
- You don't
make the wine, Uncle Henry,
that guy Duflot does.
In France,
it's always the landowner
who makes the wine.
Even though he does
nothing more than supervise
with binoculars
from the comfort of his study.
No, I enjoy making wine
because this sublime nectar
is quite simply incapable of lying.
Picked too early,
picked too late, it matters not.
The wine will always whisper
into your mouth
with complete,
unabashed honesty,
every time you take a sip.
Mmm,
delightful.
Now, Maximillian,
now you know why
I love wine so much,
have you anything
you want to tell me?
Yes, I do.
Yes, what is it?
Checkmate.
You little shit.
- Good morning, lab rats.
- Good morning, Max.
Today we're shifting gear.
Today... is Greedy Bastard Day.
The secret to riches, lab rats,
is the same as the secret to comedy...
timing.
- 115.10, Max.
So I thought we should move now.
- Not yet, Alf.
- Boss,
why do you keep calling me Alf?
Because you're an aggressive
little flunky, Kenny.
And as your boss
and genetic superior,
I can call you whatever I want.
Max Skinner's phone.
It's Kimberly.
Is Max there?
Yeah. One moment, please.
It's Kimberly.
- Sorry, Kimberly, Max isn't here.
- Where is he?
He and his fiance
are at their wedding
rehearsal today.
- Their what?
- Do you want me to leave him a message?
No, I don't want
to leave him a message!
Okay.
All right, lab rats,
just remember
we're not here for the dental plan.
People are buying! Max?
Sell.
That's yours!
I said that's yours!
That miserable sod Skinner's
dumping bonds
- onto the market.
- But he can't do that.
There's a gentleman's agreement
on the exchange.
A gentleman's agreement presupposes
- there's a gentleman involved.
- Amis,
he put out $5 billion
in sell orders- prices are
- crashing through the floor!
- Come on,
people, get off your asses!
Come on, step to it!
Start selling!
- Sell!
They should bury you
face down, Max,
because that's the way you're going.
Free big figures to 113.50!
Sell! Sell!
Still going down.
Buy.
Fuckin' buy it all back!
Buy it all back immediately!
Buy it all back!
It's yours to buy back!
Don't worry about it!
Buy it all back!
You're a genius, Max!
Filthy bugger,
he's forced down prices.
He's gonna buy everything back
on the cheap!
Start buying!
Buying now! Start buying!
- I can!
- I can!
Well done today, lab rats.
Wonderful work.
We all made
a spectacular amount of money.
Today we proved the adage that
winning isn't everything...
It's the only thing!
And there were strange goings-on
on the bond market today.
Prices crashed to 112.5,
after Lorden Brothers
unloaded $3 billion in sell orders.
Then in an extraordinary
move, the company bought the bonds back
at a substantially
reduced price,
making over $77 million
- in the process.
- Blimey.
Cries of foul play were loud
and widespread, with talks
of an inquiry to follow.
Morning, Mr. Skinner.
- Morning, Bert.
- And congratulations.
- Thank you.
- You might've tipped me off,
Mr. Skinner.
I'll give you a tip, Bert:
Never pat a burning dog.
Wanker.
Oh, Henry, bloody hell.
Ready for the fan mail?
Shoot, sunshine.
- "Bastard."
- Uh-huh.
"Bastard."
Uh-huh.
- "Burn in hell."
- Right.
"Rot in hell."
Oh. Lovely.
"Die."
Charming.
Maxie?
"Congratulations, you're my hero."
Who said that?
Your lawyer.
- Oh.
- Maxie, listen,
I just got off the phone
with, uh, Auzet.
That's the notaire handling
your Uncle Henry's estate.
She the one that sent me the letter?
Yeah.
Anyway, listen,
uh, it seems that
your Uncle Henry
hasn't updated his will
in over 20 years.
Which is why,
in typical frog fashion,
they take over a month
to notify us.
All right, so what do we do with that?
Is there a reading of the will,
or do we just download
that sort of thing these days?
What happens?
No, that's the point, Max.
Sorry?
There is no legal will.
Really?
You're his closest
blood relative,
- so you get everything.
- What, his clothes
and his Edmundo Ross LPs?
The house, you git.
You get to keep his house.
What, the old farmhouse
and the vineyards and
the grapes and everything?
Place like must be worth
a few quid these days.
Hey.
- Hmm.
- Anyway,
I've booked you a flight
and an appointment with Auzet
for 3:00 tomorrow afternoon.
Just a few papers to sign.
Come on, I can't go
to France tomorrow.
Gem, I'm the toast of the town.
I need to do
a few victory laps
around the city,
show off a little bit,
have a late night or two.
Oh, come on,
you heard the mail-
it's times like this,
when everyone hates you,
that's when it's fun.
Go on, Max-
we'll take good care
of the place when you're gone.
No problems.
Right.
- Ken.
- Mm.
Why don't you go
and try and find
some small animals to hurt?
I know, find a poodle and
punt it off the balcony.
Hmm?
- Tell me something, Max.
- Yes?
Did you care for him?
Yes, I did.
When was the last time you spoke?
A long time ago.
Why?
Well, I don't know, Gemma.
That's probably got
something to do
with me becoming an asshole.
Okay.
Max!
- Hello, how are you?
- How are you?
- Congratulations.
- Thank you.
I'm looking so much forward
to gloating through the room.
Oh, well, follow me.
- Danny, how are you?
- Congratulations.
- Thank you. Austin.
- Max, congratulations.
Say hello to your dad for me.
Oh, love, mm.
How are you doing?
- Very well. How are you?
- Oh, Lucy.
- Hello.
- I didn't realize that you two knew each other.
Whoops.
He's adorable.
Mm, magnificent bouquet.
Alluring nose.
Honey and spice.
And all things nice.
Inspection of the polyphenolics
reveals magnificent hues
of brick red,
indicative of a mature Bordeaux.
It's a burgundy.
Yes, I knew it's burgundy.
One for you, sir?
I think I shall have an eclipse.
- Thank you.
- Charles, can we get
our minds off the double
frontage with the view
and onto the French real estate?
What do you think it's worth?
Max, barely a day has passed
since you learned
of the long-lost uncle's
departure from this world,
and all you can think of is money.
The very same uncle you're
talking about, Charles, is
the man who taught me every man
needs a fuck-you million.
Okay, when are you gonna
furnish me with the particulars,
because an estate agent
needs something
he can sink his teeth into.
Well, uh, it's been a while
since I've been there,
but from memory,
at least half a dozen
bedrooms, a pool, tennis...
court, a decent-sized kitchen...
- Thanks.
- 11 hectares, a vineyard.
Bloody hell, Max, it sounds
like an estate to me, a chteau.
What's a chteau go for these days?
Well, we're obviously in the
"F-You" department, aren't we?
- Maybe several.
- Really?
God bless Henry.
I won't count my commission.
I wouldn't expect you to, Charles.
That's why I'm fond of you.
Well, in that case, Max...
here's to you.
Gemma.
Parlez-vous anglais?
- Yeah?
- Kenny,
I want the current
ten-year yield,
I want an update on the figures
for nonfarm payrolls,
and I want you to get
your scrawny little backside
out of my chair.
Thank you.
How'd he know that?
Lance Armstrong!
Maxie! Hi. How are you?
Gemma, come on, love,
admit it: This is
because I didn't shag you
at the Christmas party,
- isn't it?
- Listen, I swear on my life,
Max, they didn't have
any other cars.
So, where are we, Max?
Oh, for bollocky's sake!
Right, I've gone
to the end of that road...
- Look, they're both the D-3.
- (GPS repeats "Go!" in French)
I've got Menerbes on my left,
or I've got Cavaillon on my right,
and they're both on the D-3.
- Go! Go!
- Oh... shut up!
Okay, okay, hang on a minute.
I'll help you. Hang on.
I've got a...
I've got a GPS here
- Go! Go!
- With a stutter and a...
quite frankly,
a shitty, froggy attitude!
Okay, listen, you turn left
and that'll take you straight
onto the N-7, and if you
really put your foot on it,
you might even get
to your appointment on time.
- Bollocks! Bugger!
Mission control.
All right, love,
please reschedule
my meeting with the notaire
for first thing tomorrow morning.
Okay.
What about the keys, Max?
- Oh, there used to be a stone, you know.
- Uh-huh.
Uh, by the front door. Ask her to put that...
put the keys under the stone,
and I'll, um,
I'll pick them up from there.
Okay, copy that. Copy that.
Huh.
Hello?
Henry?
UNCLE HENRY'S VOICE:
Come on, you're slower than your Aunt Midge!
- That's it, Maximillian.
- (Max grunting)
- It's not funny.
What are you, a man or a mouse?
Fine, then, I'm a mouse. Squeak, squeak!
Hopeless, you're hopeless.
Oh, stop it!
Match point.
Ace!
Game! Set!
- Match!
- You cannot be serious!
- Hey.
- You have to rub it in?
- Hey...
The point is, Max, why
you aren't celebrating?
Because I lost!
Well, a man
should acknowledge
his losses just as gracefully
as he celebrates his victories.
Come on, give us a jig.
Give your old uncle a jig.
- Oh, yeah, I lost.
- Arms and up and down.
Yeah, great, yeah, I lost! I lost!
- Uncle Henry won!
- Yes.
- Three cheers!
- Dance, don't shimmy like an Italian.
Well done, Uncle Henry.
This is stupid.
You'll come to see
that a man learns
nothing from winning.
The act of losing, however,
can elicit great wisdom.
Not least of which is, uh,
how much more enjoyable it is to win.
It's inevitable to lose now and again.
The trick is not
to make a habit of it.
Drink?
Chicken shit.
- Excuse me?
On the roses.
Oh, fertilizer.
Oh, Tati.
Hello.
Duflot?
Oui.
- Max.
- My God.
Haven't you... matured.
Ah, c'est vrai,
the floods of'78,
- Right.
- Mistral of'86,
- fanleaf disease in '93.
- Fanleaf disease.
- In each vintage I've
corked away another
year of my youth.
But I still have my wife, Ludivine.
- Ludivine.
- Yeah.
And my dog...
ah, voila, Tati.
I expect you're hungry, no?
Please, come tonight.
My wife is roasting a lamb- mmm!
To tell the truth,
I haven't had much
of an appetite
since I learned of Henry.
Oh, the very last years,
his sight was failing.
But I tended to things
for him, you know?
We became very close.
Almost like...
father and son.
Well, I am most appreciative
that someone was here for him.
Well, my wife will
come in the morning
with croissants, okay?
Huh? She will resume her duties.
- Allez! Bon!
- If you insist.
Hmm.
"Welcome."
Ah.
Don't mind if I do.
Here's to you, Henry.
Devoting your life to the vines...
and bottling the truth.
Hmm...
That was honest.
Jesus, ought to have
a poison sticker on it.
Ah... coffee, coffee.
What's in here?
And that?
Piss off.
Hmm.
Morning, Henry.
Milk.
Hmm.
Maxie!
Madame Duflot!
Maxie! Maxie! Maxie!
- Oh...
- Morning.
Morning, Gemma.
Are you enjoying yourself, Max?
Oh, yes, as bereavements go, you know.
This will cheer you up.
You've been busted.
Morning Financial Times headline:
"Lorden Brothers trade
under investigation."
You don't have to worry
about any of that.
The FSA today launched
an official inquiry
into recent Lorden Brothers
trade activity.
Yes, well, I double-checked
it all through Legal.
I covered our asses, okay?
It's just bollocks to placate
the lucid back.
Oh, he doesn't think so.
- Nigel?
- Sir Nigel.
He wants a meeting with you today,
Well, it must be
about something else.
Um, what time is my meeting
with the notaire?
A little over an hour from now.
My time or yours?
Oh, shit.
Oh, Gemma!
Yes?
How's the house, Max?
Is it gorgeous?
Well, to tell you
the truth, Charlie,
it's a little bit shabby.
We don't say shabby, Max.
We say filled with the patina
of a bygone era.
- How's the wine?
- Right.
Uh, bouquet of a wet dog.
Hits the palate
like a razor blade
with a finish that hints of awful.
So the house is falling apart
and the vineyard
makes undrinkable wine?
Excellent.
One thing you are going
to need is an oenologue.
All right, what's that?
It's a sort of licensed wine expert.
They take soil samples- bits of
the vine, that sort of thing-
tests them- there must
be a couple near you.
And also, I would need
a couple of sexy snaps
to get the punters clamoring,
and I have an e-mail address for
you to send them to, which is...
Hold on a second.
I'll just put you on speaker.
Okay, shoot.
Provencelistings@
abroadproperties. Inc.
Shit.
- Hello?
- Attention!
- Hello?
- Shit.
- Max?
- All right, go on.
Auzet.
Hello.
Max Skinner.
The vigneron makes the wine
and the estate owner
maintains the property.
Mr. Skinner?
Yes, hmm, right, well, delightful.
This is how your uncle
and Monsieur Duflot
worked for over 20 years.
Naturally, Monsieur Duflot
will be anxious
as to your intentions.
I think I can speed this up.
I have no intention
of becoming a winemaker.
So let Monsieur Duflot
make the wine
and you enjoy the estate
on the weekends.
I'm not sure you understand me.
My life is in London.
I don't do weekends.
I intend to sell La Siroque
as soon as possible.
And what about, uh,
Monsieur and Madame Duflot?
Look, in all cases like this,
it simply
just comes down to a figure.
Well, if there's nothing else,
I have a plane to catch.
Right.
You're selling La Siroque?
There has been a mistake, I think.
News travels fast.
But your uncle,
he meant for you to have it,
not sell it.
Well, I'm sure if he did,
he would have written
that down in a proper will.
He didn't.
You know, Henry was not
English the way you are.
He was a man of secrets,
a man of passion.
He didn't write things down.
You would take me
away from my vines?
My vines, Duflot.
I live in them,
I breathe in them.
They tear my hands.
Look, Francis, when
I sell the property,
I do intend to make you
a handsome settlement.
Do you know, monsieur,
what it is to love something
more than your own life?
To submit your days and nights
to the fickle will of nature?
I have only a few vintages left.
Soon my body and spirit will
be defeated by the terroir.
And you would dare come
here and take away
my last few chances of immortality?
Afraid so. Be in touch.
Leaving now.
Oh, good.
'Cause Sir Nigel has made
a special trip, Max.
- Is everything okay?
- Everything's fine.
Good. Oh, did you remember
to take photos for Charlie?
Yes.
- Damn it!
Idiot.
Let's see you then.
One... two...
...and go!
- Yes?
- Get in the car.
Get off my camera.
- Bollocks!
Oh, come on!
Where's the ladder?
Where are you, tosser?
- Hold on!
Come to Papa. Come to Papa.
Gemma, for God's sake, keep calling!
Hello.
Oh, no, don't worry about me.
I'm... I'm the pool man.
I do this every Thursday.
It's just routine maintenance.
It's been lovely chatting to you.
And, and you are
a spectacular vision.
But any chance for a rope
or a ladder?
Is that your little car?
Uh, yes, I'm the temporary custodian
of the lime green roller skate,
but it's a hired car; it's a rental.
It's not for sale. Sorry?
- Can you swim?
- Well, yes, but...
but not in a foot of cow shit.
Hello?
Will all passengers on Flight...
He's not on the flight.
Right, right.
Okay, roger that.
What is it, Major Lawrence,
that attracts you, personally,
to the desert?
It's clean.
I like it because it's clean.
Great.
You better be in prison, Maxie.
Yes, just tell him I'm sorry.
There was nothing
I could do about it.
Sorry's no good, Max.
He's gone.
Oh, shit.
Um, what time is the first
flight out in the morning?
Oh, there's no point
in rushing back, Max.
You know, the last thing
Sir Nigel did on his way out
- was to suspend you for a week.
- What?
What the f- does he expect me
to do for a week?
Take a holiday?
Christ, he didn't say that, did he?
No, I just did.
Right, Gemma. Never say that.
If anybody calls,
do not say I'm on holiday.
All right?
That's worse than dying.
Now, look.
I'll be back in the office
in a couple of days.
- You just make sure
- Okay.
That every man jack
in there is ready.
Set it up so I can
trade in Kenny's name.
What?
Get him a clearance
at the highest level
on Sir Nigel's recommend.
Are you mad, Max?
Who cares? Just do it.
Don't tell anybody, all right?
Especially not that
little shit, Kenny.
Max, is there a problem?
No, I'm having a great time.
- You sure?
- Yes.
- You just be careful, okay? Okay. Ciao.
- Okay.
Bye.
- Oh, shit!
Shit! Scorpion! Scorpion!
Ludivine!
Scorpion!
- Oh! Drop it! Bloody hell!
Get that little bastard!
Of course.
Okay.
Fits very well; beautifully.
Max?
Are you back in Blighty?
On the contrary, chuckles.
I've decided to stick around
for a couple of days.
So it's true,
you are getting the sack.
No, I'm not getting
the sack, Charlie.
I'm just exploring my options,
with a view to realizing
the full potential
of my inheritance.
Well, speaking
of your inheritance,
how soon before we can view?
It's cosmetic stuff mostly, I'd say.
Surprising, actually,
how well it's been maintained.
Hmm. So you don't need
a contractor or anything like that?
Uh, no, no, no, no.
Just needs a...
a coat of paint
and a bit of a scrub.
Okay, you sure?
- No problem at all, Charlie.
- Good.
Charlie?
Charlie, can you hear me?
- Yes.
Can you hear me now?
- Yes.
- Look, I wasn't joking before
about what I said
about the wine they make here.
It is not, I repeat,
not first-class.
- Will that affect our price?
- Well, how bad can it be?
Uh, well,
it gives you a blinding headache
- and it makes you angry.
- Ah.
I can't imagine the damage
a second sip might do.
Well, we'll just have
to make sure
our buyers don't know
anything about wine.
We'll concentrate on the Americans.
Just make sure she's match-fit
in 72 hours.
Righto.
A Lamborghini tractor.
Paintbrush...
paintbrush, paintbrush.
Paintbrush!
You old bugger.
Duflot.
I was just about to use
that paintbrush.
It's my paintbrush.
Gee whiz.
This is fun.
Tell you what,
I'll give you 20 euros
for your paintbrush.
- Hmm?
- No.
No?
Fifty.
I'll give you a hundred euros
for your paintbrush, Duflot.
I don't care.
What do you want?
When you sell, I stay vigneron.
I keep my vines.
You want to stay with your vines?
- Mm-hmm.
- Fine.
That means you...
must help me...
fix the place up-
do the gardens,
paint the house,
clean the pool- and I,
if at all possible,
will attempt to convince
the new owners
of the worth and value
of your services.
D'accord?
A Frenchman's hand
is his word.
An Englishman's word is his bond.
- Concord?
- Deal.
Frog tosspot.
English prick.
No.
Awfully sorry.
Goal of the day.
Bat. Come on.
Here comes the ball!
Champion of the over- unh!
Let's play.
Come on.
All right, I'm 12-none out.
Okay.
It won't last one month.
If things go
according to plan, Francis,
it will be somebody else's problem.
Monsieur Max!
Yes?
There is, um... a person
- at the door.
- A person?
A person.
Bonjour.
Bonjour.
The only country that issues
teeth like that is America.
Oh.
You speak English.
- Like a native.
I'm Christie Roberts.
I'm looking for Mr. Skinner.
You lucky devil, you found him.
Impossible.
You're way too young.
You know, I was just thinking
the same thing about you.
I meant too young to be my dad.
Henry Skinner is my father.
She has Henry's nose.
Allez. Allez.
Wow.
This your mum?
In all her Flashdance glory.
So, uh...
is he around?
Oh, bollocks.
Um...
I'm sorry.
I've forgotten your name.
- It's Christie.
- Christie.
You see, Christie, um...
Henry...
He's dead, huh?
A month ago.
Um...
Cup of tea?
Yes?
Madame Duflot.
Well, no, it's more
than a wrinkle, Max.
What if the girl
turns out to be legit?
Oh, come on, she turns up
a couple months after he parks it?
Far too sweet, Charlie;
I'm not buying it.
You need some
legal advice, mate,
and you need it fast,
in case the little minx
screws up the whole deal.
Asking price?
Uh, it's seven and a half.
Did you get that?
Right.
Christie, I'm just going
to pop into town.
Oh, no problem-
I booked a youth hostel,
just in case the old man
- was schizo, you know?
- Oh, right.
Oh, you mind dropping me off?
I really got to get
out of these clothes.
Why don't you just get
out of your clothes here?
Got plenty of space, lots of room.
You can clean up, take a shower.
- I'll be back in a jiff.
- You sure?
Absolutely, absolutely.
Madame Duflot?
Voila.
In the French law, there is no difference between
legitimate and illegitimate
children when it comes
to their right to inherit.
That's bloody ridiculous.
She never even met Henry.
She could very well be an impostor.
That is precisely why
she would be required
to produce some form
of documentation.
Photo or even
correspondence- a love letter.
Yes, yes, yes, but what if I just...
sell the property
before she even makes her claim?
No; legally, she could
invalidate the sale
even after the transfer of title.
Bugger.
My advice, Mr. Skinner,
is to treat her
with the utmost respect.
Goes without saying.
And hope she'll be on her way.
...bugger off.
Don't let this... end in court.
Merci.
Joan of Arc?
Oh, Jacques Cousteau.
You tried to drown me.
And you tried to run me
over with your little car.
What are you talking about,
I tried to run you over?
What sort of bollocks is that?
Down the road
from La Siroque,
you were driving your
midget car on your phone.
Bonjour. Bonjour.
And I believe
had your head stuck
very far up your ass.
Look at the damage
you have caused me!
You tried to kill me,
I tried to kill you.
My God.
She's fantastic.
Hey, Max.
Look at the view.
It's like Czanne.
Oh, Tati. Psst.
Francis...
in, uh, in town today,
I was, um,
I was passing by this restaurant...
Her name is Fanny Chenal.
Right.
Many times, I've seen
this same look on your uncle's face.
But you deserve credit.
Why is that?
You are now the town hero
for making her show
her derriere.
She, um...
She grew up around here, didn't she?
Who?
Fanny Chenal.
I believe, yes.
She, um...
She otherwise spoken for?
She was once.
A football player- for Lyon.
He was shit,
just like his left foot.
He treated her very badly, you know.
Since then, it's rumored
that she will let no man
near her heart.
So she's alone, then.
Who?
Fanny Chenal.
Max,
recall what Proust said:
"Leave pretty women
to men without imagination."
Duflot, I'm a banker.
I have no imagination.
Stop.
Fred Perry.
Henri Lacoste.
Love-15.
Yes!
No, no, out.
Cannot be serious!
That was in by a mile!
Ball. Ball!
Ah, good.
- Yeah! Hey!
Oh... oh, bollocks!
My point.
Match point.
Game.
Hmm.
Eh, Tati.
Voila.
Oh, Maxie.
Oh, look, Ludivine, um,
she's my cousin.
Well, she might be...
could end up turning out
to be, um, a relative, uh,
from a cousinly perspect...
Uh-huh.
This is perhaps
a little over the top.
No.
Half the aristocrats in France
have liaison with their cousins.
Gosh, that explains a lot.
- Ooh.
Oh, won't do.
Anything but, uh...
La Siroque.
Vin de merdre.
No label.
That looks promising.
HENRY: Careful on those steps.
What do you see up there?
Fervens.
Are you speaking in tongues, boy?
"Fervere"- it's a Latin term.
It means "to boil."
The native yeasts in your cellar
are converting the sugar
inside the grapes to alcohol.
The release of
carbon dioxide gas
is what causes the bubbling of it.
I must be suffering from dementia.
I don't recall ever
having told you that.
You didn't.
Monsieur Duflot explained it to me.
Well done.
Proves the adage
that wisdom can be found
in the most unlikely places.
To watch Duflot on bended knee
doing something as simple
as weeding his soil,
he brings a magnificent poetry
in his devotion
to each and every grape.
Perhaps it'd inspire you
to find devotion in what you do
for a living one day.
I want to be a professional
poker player when I'm older.
Or a comedian.
Maximillian,
ask me what is
the most important thing in comedy.
What is the most
important thing
- in comedy?
- Timing.
Timing.
Have you tasted Dad's wine?
Oh, yes, indeed.
Bloody awful, isn't it?
But I do recommend it
for getting the paint out from
underneath your fingernails.
So you know.
Well, I'm more of a cognac drinker.
I'm too impatient
to be a wine lover.
If I'm gonna get drunk,
I don't want
to spend all night doing it.
Try that.
It's better.
It's extraordinary.
Like a Bordeaux,
only velvet rather than wool.
Well, well,
guess who knows a thing
or two about wine.
Back in Napa,
we're known to gargle
and spit on occasion.
That sounds like fun.
Is, uh, is this made here
on the estate?
"Coin Perdu."
Doubt it.
Different bottles.
Same corks.
Un petit mystery, n'est-ce pas?
Well, Henry always was
a little bit of a mystery.
How so?
He loved England,
but he lived in France.
And he loved women,
but never the same one
for more than
a certain period of time.
He never got married.
And he loved adventure.
But every single one of
my memories takes place
within about 100 steps
of this very spot.
Are they good memories?
No.
They're grand.
I'm going to go upstairs,
finish my book.
Death in Venice.
That's my book.
Don't tell me the ending.
Well, actually, I never
got around to finishing it.
Hello, old mate, how are you?
Just a quick question.
Yeah, hang on. Shirley.
Yes?
You'd know this.
In France,
is it actually illegal
to shag your own cousin?
Only if she's ugly.
Right.
Bollocks.
Lance Armstrong!
I know, I'm so sorry.
I'm supposed to be here
for a 7:30 reservation!
Oh, come on.
I know. I know.
You said we'd be seated right away.
I know. Okay, you have a drink.
We'll offer you a drink,
and you'll have your table in
less than 20 minutes, okay?
All righty. Okay.
All right, what I want is-
get ready, write it down:
Double mai tai.
Caroline?
Bonsoir.
Monsieur...
Well, I hope your
food's wonderful
because your service
is obviously lousy.
Please, Monsieur, I'm too busy
to ignore you.
- Where are all your waiters, love?
- Look,
- my hands are full without fun
and games with you. Comprends?
- Mm-hmm.
- My hands are full without fun
and games with you. Comprends?
- Mm-hmm.
McDonald's is in Avignon,
fish and chips in Marseille.
Table six?
Allez, allez!
- What are you doing?
- Don't worry, love.
Done this before.
Where?
Worked my way through university
at London's finest restaurants.
Monsieur!
- Mais qu'est-ce qui se passe?
- Alors?
Venez, monsieur!
Okay, okay.
You can serve.
But remember, if there
are any complaints,
in France,
the customer is always wrong.
Table six.
Table six.
Bonsoir...
Table?
Uh... 16.
Champagne?
Yes, cheers. And wha-what
are we going to have here?
Garkin! Garkin! Get over here.
- I need, need help over here.
- En deux minutes, monsieur.
Where you going?
Garkin!
Oh, do you speak American?
'Cause this menu
is all in French
and we don't understand it.
Yeah, we need some silverware.
But, uh, let me tell you
what I would like to have.
Mm-hmm.
I would like a salad "Nicoisee..."
with ranch dressing on it.
Wait, wait, baby,
low-cal ranch dressing.
Oh, that's right.
I'm still on my diet.
So, I would like low-cal
ranch dressing with no oil.
And could you sprinkle
some bacon bits on top?
McDonald's is in Avignon,
fish and chips, Marseille.
Allez.
You people got some serious attitude around here.
Here are your tips.
Thank you for your help.
You're fired.
You know, my vigneron said that
you grew up around Gord.
Monsieur Duflot is mistaken.
I only visited Gord during
the summer with my mother.
I used to spend my summers here.
I wonder if we ever met.
Well, if we did,
I hope I was unbearable.
You're a local.
You'd know the answer to this.
Where would a young man,
recently cashed up, take someone
for a drink?
What?
Are you asking me on a date?
No, it's more of an apology.
I just don't, uh, want you to
think I'm the sort of maniac
who goes around running people
off the road.
I'm not interested.
Have a good night.
Sunday night, 8:00.
Place de I'Etang.
Don't be late.
I shall see you then.
Oh, my God.
Help! Scorpions!
- Scorpions!
- Maddy!
Help!
Oh, my god!
Et voila!
Et voila.
- La lavande...
- No, no!
La lavande...
Merci.
You're welcome.
You dance very well, Ludivine.
Thank you.
I miss Henry.
He was an excellent dancer.
Yeah.
- Do you want to dance?
- Oh, oh, oh...
Oh, what happened?
Uh, the tennis with
(clears throat) Francis.
Oh, poor boy. Do you
want me to put a bandage?
No.
Antiseptic?
No.
Oh, you are coming
to our house tonight,
manger ce soir, to our home.
Oui.
- Huh?
- Oui.
I am cooking for you, Max.
Merci.
Bonjour.
Vous parlez franais?
Ouais.
Francis Duflot, vigneron.
Christie Roberts.
Illegitimate daughter.
The resemblance to
Henry is unmistakable.
The nose.
For 23 years, I toiled
side-by-side with your father.
Even now, he works from
there and I from here.
That's when I first
planted the vines.
But now they are sad and tired.
Except here.
Here?
No, it's catastrophic.
Nothing but rocks and grief.
Limestones absorb the sunlight.
Keep the vines warm at night.
Wine brat.
I spent summers working
in a vineyard in California.
Oui, mais...
In California, they don't make wine.
They make Hawaiian Punch.
Mondavi might argue with that one.
Maybe Henry's daughter
would be interested in
a personal tour in the vines.
- Okay.
- Okay?
If we are lucky,
his spirit will join us.
Paid to the order
of Francois Hupert, the plumber?
How much?
Uh, 87 francs.
Mm...
sign!
Henry Skinner.
- Next?
- The mechanic.
Not a sous to that grease monkey.
The old Jag's still coughing
like your Aunt Midge.
Next.
Uh, Jean-Pierre Lesourdre.
How much?
How much?
Huh? Uh, okay, okay.
You're a genius, Maximillian.
You could be me.
The photos worked like a charm.
MAX: Really?
Yeah, massive interest, Max.
Wonderful.
Yes, money, money, money,
money, money.
So I decided it's time
I was on-site.
So I booked a flight.
I'll be with you tomorrow afternoon.
Terrific.
Well, I'll alert the staff
and chain up the dogs.
What do you mean, chain up the dogs?
No, I don't have any dogs,
Charlie, that's a...
that's just a figure of speech,
eh? Okay, bye.
Max!
Pretty cool, huh?
Bonsoir.
a va?
a va...
Allez, we must have an appero.
We must have a big one.
Look at that.
Ah, Ludivine.
Ah, non, non, non,
je ne veux pas- Maxie!
Bonsoir.
Hello.
a va?
a va?
Oh, merci.
C'est gentil, merci, merci, merci...
Of course.
Ah, I took the liberty
of inviting Henry's
daughter to join us.
Pastis?
- Oui.
- Allez.
Bonsoir, coz.
Bonsoir.
I see you've managed
to ingratiate yourself
with the hired help.
Where'd you get the Halston?
Dad's closet.
Ta-da.
I wonder what she wore home.
A simple meal after a day's work
in the fields.
Eggplant...
Caviar de Bergine-very good.
Headless larks.
Where are the heads? We didn't,
like, eat them already, did we?
No, no, no.
Uh, mushrooms of the region.
Et voila...
And finally civet
of wild boar
marinated in red wine and blood
pressed from the carcass.
Why would you have it any other way?
Allez, attaque.
Ludivine?
Help, help.
Wine, Max?
La Siroque?
Mais non.
Uh... Christie?
- Wine?
- No, I'm okay.
Oh, Papa.
Papa speaks Provenal.
You know?
Oh, but very few
still understand it.
It's now exclusively practiced
by poets and sodomites.
What a sodomite is, by the way?
I will explain you tonight.
Francis.
Mmm...
Mmm...
The asparagus is-is lovely.
Mmm, thank you.
Very chewy, but...
Iovely.
Eh, bravo, eh, Ludivine?
And the boar, mmm!
Perhaps the best boar I've had.
Can I have some bread, please?
Oh, yeah.
Francis, Francis?
Papa, donne-moi ca, Papa.
Sorry.
C'est Le Coin Perdu.
It's a local vin de garage, c'est...
"Vin de garage?"
It's a garage wine.
Like a boutique wine.
Small vineyards, small productions.
Seriously big prices.
It's overrated.
It didn't say that on the Web.
Turns out Le Coin Perdu
is a Provenal legend.
It changes hands
among collectors,
but nobody knows who makes it.
Well, uh, it's time for fromage.
Okay?
You want, uh, fromage, cheese?
- Allez.
- Allez.
And now, now...
Papa? Papa?
Trouble you for a spot of the Coin?
You know what it is, Christie?
It is Mar de Provence.
I made it myself.
Wow.
It's a little bit strong.
But very good.
Chin-chin.
It's your father's recipe.
Yes.
Max.
- Little bit?
- Oui, merci.
Tell-Tell us, Madame Duflot,
what is it that makes you so
certain she is Henry's child?
Oh, but of course.
The nose.
Oh, the nose.
The glorious snout.
The prominent proboscis.
Is there something else? Anything?
No? Anything that might help
corroborate Christie's claim?
Henry ever discuss California?
Did he ever mention a woman
in California?
It's funny, isn't it?
Any moments of drunken candor
where he might have mentioned offspring?
No?
I mean, seriously.
Oh, because the last person that
Henry would ever consciously
breed with would be an American.
Yes, but, uh, in this moment,
I see more of Henry in Christie
than I do in you.
Max...
all I want is to learn
about my father.
This is my chance to find
out who made me and...
I don't care if you
believe me or not.
Oh!
Oh.
Monsieur...
Madame...
Papa Duflot...
thanks for a lovely evening.
Oh, Papa will walk you back.
No, Ludivine, no.
The vines will guide me.
Bonsoir.
Good night.
- Whoa.
- It's okay?
I'm okay.
Oh.
What are you doing?
I lost my shoe.
What?
I lost my shoe.
Why can't Henry be my dad?
Well, because now that
he's back in my life,
I'm not sure that
I want to share him.
You don't believe me, do you?
Look, Christie, it's not a matter of that.
Ludivine told me your parents
died when you were young.
You know, I... grew up
without a dad, too.
Doesn't it matter to you
that I may be the only
blood relative you have?
Yes, it does. That's why
I need to be sure.
Whoa... whoa!
This was my room
when I was a little boy.
Sleeping here...
it was the safest place
in the world.
No bedtimes, no chores.
No squabbling adults.
I loved Henry deeply,
but I never got
around to telling him.
It's a shitty feeling.
He was someone who saved my life.
Thanks a million, Maximillian.
Bloody hell, Henry.
Oh, where does it come back in?
- Where does it come back in?
- Maxie!
Bugger cooked the books.
Yes?
Max, my boy.
Amis, you old cheese.
So sorry to hear you're out.
Well, as usual, Amis,
the only thing right about your intelligence
is that it's all wrong.
Then again, you always were
at the back of the conga line.
You've crossed the line
one too many times, "Sinner."
You little runt!
By the by, thank you so much for
your very generous contribution
to my Aston Martin fund.
Did you get the flowers?
What flowers?
What are you talking about?
...little schemes and ploys...
- Do go on.
Well, you're nothing.
Plonker.
Oi! I heard that.
Who you calling a plonker?
You fat prat.
Hey? Hello?
- Skinner?
- Bonjour.
Hello. I'm Jean-Marie Bougnier.
Yes?
I've come to test the vines.
- Oh, the oenologue!
- Yeah.
Right, great. Um, well, grab
your boots and off we go.
Yeah.
(cell phone ringing)
Gemma, long time.
Max, I've just had a vision
of you serving Kenny
a latte at Starbucks.
Getting comfortable
in my chair, is he?
Yeah, listen.
Remember, we are not here
for the dental plan.
Sell, sell.
He's even taking credit
for your trade this week.
He's telling everyone in
the office that he was the one
that gave you the idea.
Well, if he wasn't an ambitious
and mercenary little bastard,
I never would have given him
the job in the first place.
Yeah, but, Max,
he's really trying to take...
Gemma... just
give him his head
and let him do what he needs to do.
All right?
Tout a I'heure, Gemma.
Tout a I'heure.
Well...
Piquette.
Wonderful, wonderful.
No, no, it mean, um...
it is bad, you know?
Yeah.
Uh... shit.
Chicken shit, no?
It's very terrible,
this one, you know?
It's like, um, in French
we say, um... mort.
It's completely dead.
Oh, my God!
Oh, my God.
Look at this one; this is a...
It's a baby.
It is a baby.
Look at it.
I test this one.
Wow.
Catastrophe.
Very, very bad.
I am really sorry. Eh!
More like a quarry than a vineyard.
Look at this-you know what it mean?
You cut off two of
every three bunches.
What's left gets all the nourishment,
you know?
And why would you do that?
Perhaps the peasants
got the time to salvage
what they could, you know?
Right, um...
I think I follow you.
Um, so wh-what's the verdict?
Despite your vigneron's
unbearable faults, you know,
this terroir is beyond help.
Nothing, um... shit.
Nothing. No.
You might consider growing
potatoes or squash.
I will have my office
send a report
and my invoice.
Thank you.
Oi!
Wakey, wakey, beach bunny.
What the hell do you think
you're doing?
These are Henry's private papers.
They're irreplaceable.
Did you know Dad mixed a martini
for Winston Churchill?
He also danced a waltz
with Amelia Earhart in 1975.
Well, considering Amelia
Earhart died in the 1930s,
that's a perfect
example of the type
of exaggerator Uncle Henry was.
Want to know the real Uncle Henry?
Not the one your overactive
imagination is manufacturing?
The real Henry Skinner
was a man so afraid
of committing to the real world
that he retreated from life
to drink and shag his way
to a lonely and loveless end!
Everything I need to know
about my dad is right here.
It's right in front of me.
You know, and if this place
meant as much to him
as I believe it did,
you're worse than I thought
for even thinking about selling it.
I'll leave tomorrow.
Uncle Henry!
Let's see you then.
- One, two, and go!
- Yay!
Yes?
Hello.
You working out on the house?
Charlie.
Yes, at it since daybreak.
Really.
I hate to think of you toiling
down there, all on your own.
We're English, Charlie, you know?
Born to rule and sacrifice.
Yes.
Where are you?
- I'm outside.
Wow.
Max, take my original estimate
- and shove it up my ass.
- Shh!
- If I can't get you $5 million
- Charlie, shh-shh...
for this baby, I'm in the wrong sport.
What?
What?
Oh, dear.
Huh?
This is a disaster.
Mr. Froggy Wineman
has just knocked a million
off our sale price.
Oh, bugger it, you know?
We just go to plan two, right?
Just flog it as fast as we can
for as much as we can.
And just keep in mind
that the vigneron, Duflot,
he stays on
as part of the deal, okay?
- I'll do my best.
- Right.
Max?
So what's on the agenda
for this evening?
Steak frite?
Bottle of pastis?
Evening game of bridge?
Charlie.
Charlie, please;
real men don't play bridge,
and, uh, I have a...
an obligatory cultural activity
in the village this evening.
Can I come?
Will there be girls?
No and yes.
So you're leaving
your best friend alone
in an eerie chteau
on his first night?
Charlie.
No. I'm leaving you alone.
And, um, you're not as alone
as you think you are.
You'll find a friend.
Okay?
Max.
We thought you were dead.
Kenny, I've heard the word
that Monday's auction
is going to trade like a turd.
Oh, yeah?
A smart move
would be to sell 28 gilt short
at, say, 99.10.
Good grief.
Are you sure?
It's risky as hell;
it'd seriously piss off the markets.
Now, of course,
I'm not allowed to do
the trading, Kenny, but, uh,
I'm sure that you'll share
the credit with me
when the bouquets are passed around.
- Yes?
- All right, Max.
- See you later.
- Righto.
Boss, someone is shorting
Monday's gilt auction.
Skinner.
Not this time, you miserable sod.
Buy!
Get your hands
on as much as you can.
Hello.
Hello.
Anyone there?
Hello?
Who are you?
I'm Charlie's friend Max.
No, I'm not.
I'm Max's friend Charlie.
Okay, Max's friend.
I need you to come up here
and take a look at my back.
Thanks.
Have I told you you're a vision?
Oui, from the bottom of the pool,
when you were peeking up my skirt.
Gosh, guilty as charged.
Sorry about that.
- Bonsoir. You look lovely.
- Bonsoir.
You, too.
Sartorial elegance by Henri.
Wow.
Le Coin Perdu?
I've never actually seen a bottle.
Have you heard of it?
It's expensive.
It's expensive.
Are you trying to seduce me, Max?
Oh, gosh.
No, of course not.
The thought would never
even cross my mind,
not more than six or ten times.
Um...
Eh, right now,
it's sort of the color of...
ripe pomegranate.
Bummer.
Could you, uh... look
in the medicine cabinet
for some aloe,
aspirin, bucket of ice.
Yeah.
Uh, I'm Christie, by the way.
Charlie.
How do you do?
I love your accent.
Thanks.
Love your bum.
Love your bum.
There's something you
should know about me, Max.
Yes?
I'm very, very choosy.
Well, I'm very, very honored.
I'm also very,
very suspicious;
very, very irrational;
and I have a very,
very short temper.
I'm also extremely jealous
and slow to forgive,
just so you know.
Well, this promises to be
- a lovely evening.
- Mm.
I wouldn't go to Rome.
It is quite overcrowded.
I mean, there's more
tourists than pigeons.
I've got to go somewhere,
maybe Venice. Ow.
Yeah, but it's sinking.
You know, one false move,
fall in the canal- sorry.
Run down by a gondolier.
Whereas London has got it all,
including your own
personal tour guide: moi.
Charlie.
Concentrate.
Sorry.
Alone at last.
You've been candid with me, so I
should be candid with you.
I'm famously callous,
even to the point
of being insensitive.
And I have an absolute
inability to trust anyone.
The only person I ever loved
was my Uncle Henry, and...
I didn't contact him for
the last ten years of his life.
He often expressed great sadness,
as though he thought
you had been lost.
You knew him?
As a woman living here,
it was impossible not to know him.
Right.
Um, he didn't, by any chance,
ever get out the Edmundo records
- And do the, um...
Rumba?
No.
Thank you.
But of course I tried.
Well, you would, 'cause he
was absolutely lovable.
Yes.
I can't for the life
of me think of why
I stopped coming down here.
I love this place.
It's intoxicating.
Scorpions! Agh!
Ow!
- Scorpions!
- Mm.
There are scorpions in my bedroom!
I must go to work.
Isn't that usually the man's line?
Do you know the reason
why I spent the night with you?
It is because once you have done
what you came here to do,
you will not return.
For us, there can be no future.
There is safety in that.
Well...
...there's absolutely nothing
stopping us from setting up
your caf in Notting Hill.
- London definitely needs
a decent bistro.
Mm.
How typical... to assume
that I live in Provence
because I have no choice.
Fanny, this place just
doesn't suit my life.
No, Max.
It is your life
that doesn't suit this place.
Au revoir.
What happened to the diving board?
Hmm.
We did quite well, didn't we?
Yeah, I don't think we did
too badly, considering
the oenologue's report.
You know, Charlie...
...I think I'm in love.
I don't blame you, mate.
She's a goddess,
even if she is your cousin.
Not Christie, you silly sod.
My, um...
my obligatory cultural activity is a girl.
- Oh.
- A woman.
Fanny Chenal.
Ooh, la la.
I've been thinking,
perhaps I shouldn't sell.
Max, I think
at the moment,
your whole body is covered
in the eau de French girl,
and when you have
had a cold shower,
things will look
a little bit different.
I could keep it as
a pied-a-terre, a weekender,
holiday house, you know.
Can I remind you what happened
when your boss and mentor,
a man you loved, took his
first holiday in 15 years.
I stole his job.
Exact.
Max Skinner doesn't do weekends.
Max Skinner doesn't take holidays.
Max Skinner...
...makes money.
So do what you do best, Max.
Hmm?
If you're going to sell it,
you got to sign it.
Shh.
Why is he singing to them,
Uncle Henry?
Well, you see, Max,
the terroir needs more
than southern rain.
It needs harmony.
It needs balance.
My whole life,
people laughed at me
for singing to the vines.
I explained that, someday,
the vines would sing back.
Here, they finally have.
You don't know what you are doing.
What are you talking about?
Here...
Le Coin Perdu.
It's not possible.
The oenologue said you couldn't
even grow squash or potatoes...
No, no, no, no, no.
The oenologue was paid to say that.
We thought that if you believed
La Siroque had no value,
you would leave things
as they were,
so the status quo.
Why didn't you tell me this before?
Why didn't you trust me?
Max, would you trust you?
These vines, they are illegal.
Your uncle always intended
to leave the estate to you,
but he worried about
what you had become.
"My nephew is selfish,"
he used to say.
"How can I give this
place to a man
who can't even appreciate
the simple pleasures of life?"
So it was never written.
Plus, fate took him
before he could decide what to do.
I've already sold it.
Then you have done
the very thing
your uncle feared you would do.
You have sold his spirit
to the highest bidder, Max,
and betrayed the only man
who ever cared for you.
Here, Max.
Here was Henry's fuck-you money!
This one.
Ah, well chosen.
It's not quite there yet.
Once you find
something good, Max,
you have to take care of it.
You have to let it grow.
Christie.
What are you doing?
You can't just leave.
Sure, I can.
Well, what about last night?
I nursed you through
second-degree burns.
You were sweet.
And I seriously damaged
the ends of my fingers.
Frostbitten?
Like your heart.
Bye, Charlie.
Bye, Christie.
Where you headed?
Not exactly sure.
I brought you something.
Your book.
You didn't finish it.
Christie?
You do have his nose.
Au revoir.
Au revoir, coz.
Dear Max,
I know it's been many years
since we last spoke,
but I find myself
in a bit of a jam,
and I'm afraid I need your help.
The thing is, Max, old boy, I'm dying.
I know this because, uh,
Dr. Karr, my physician,
has stopped talking
about my health
and begun discussing the weather.
Convinced that death,
like all tradesmen,
would be unable
to find my front door,
and having always
believed wills
to be written invitations
to the Reaper,
I find myself impelled
to impress upon your kindness.
I have a daughter, ;
her name is Christie Roberts.
Sadly, we have never met.
Her mother's name was Allison.
She was a tour guide
at a tiny vineyard
in Northern California.
Max, I should like you
to find her,
and to this end,
I should like to leave her
what is rightfully hers.
I hope this decision
doesn't hurt your feelings,
and as successful as you are,
you don't need it.
I hope you understand,
because, for me,
even in its present state,
La Siroque is a place of magic,
and it is my heartfelt wish
that Christie should share
in that magic.
I like to think ofher here.
After all, she and La Siroque
are all I leave behind.
Your loving uncle...
Your loving uncle,
Henry Skinner.
Henry Skinner.
Il est un petit, um, wrinkle.
What do you mean? What...
What sort of wrinkle?
Uh...
Ah, Genghis, back from the dead.
Just a lovely tie.
Do tell your mother
I admire her taste.
Welcome back, boss.
Oh... I bet.
You wanker!
Kenneth. Nice haircut.
You set me up.
Oh, dear boy,
you haven't been fired
in my absence, have you?
A short order.
Did my nuts in
in less than an hour.
You didn't?
That's unfortunate, dear boy.
Lost us six million quid.
Couldn't have anything to do
with me, Kenny. I was suspended.
You bastard!
Morning, lab rats.
- Morning, boss.
- Morning, Max.
Morning, Max.
Bonjour, Jasminda.
a va?
Bonjour?
You look different.
Give me everything
I need to read to catch up
and an espresso.
Max?
Hmm?
Sir Nigel's waiting for you.
Make it a double.
Auf Wiederherren.
Van Gogh.
Hope you've got a good lock
on the door, sir.
Don't be soft.
It's not real.
The real one's in my vault.
It's a copy.
Sit.
Art's a passion, Max.
Got to have passions.
I have horses, cars, money...
Are they passions or vices, sir?
Have I finished talking?
When I finish talking,
that's when you talk,
and it better be good!
While you've been
on your little holiday,
I've been in a shitstorm!
Sir, I do appreciate that my actions
may have caused some...
Max...
You're one of the ballsiest
traders in this square mile,
but you've got to learn
there are consequences
to your sort of behavior.
There it is.
You have one hour.
So, shall I pack my Smurfs?
Oh, Max!
Look after Madame Chenal's
daughter, Fanny,
while I give her mother
a tour of the estate.
Uh, but I really want to finish
the last chapter
of Death in Venice.
Well, given the book's title,
I don't think you'll be
surprised by the ending.
You be good, Fanny.
Come now, Madame Chenal.
There are many attractions
here at La Siroque,
beginning with the view,
as seen from my bedroom.
That's a lot of zeros, Max.
Or a full partnership for life.
My choice.
Now you listen to Mommy, Max.
Partner-you're made for life.
Sir Nigel didn't become partner
till he was 53,
and look at him.
Yes.
Look at him.
Now what's it to be:
The money
or your life?
When do you ever see it, Nige?
The real one?
When do you look at it?
Do you make late-night
pilgrimages down to the vault
just to see it or?
What point are you making?
Bonjour.
I think so.
You sure you don't need more time?
No, I know what I want.
You're sure?
Absolutely.
So, what is it to be?
How's the soup?
The soup is finished.
Like my job.
The fish?
We've run out.
That's like me with excuses.
Don't waste my time.
Choose something we have.
I would like a lifetime spent
with an irrational
and suspicious goddess.
Some short-tempered jealousy
on the side...
...and a bottle of wine
that tastes like you...
and a glass that's never empty.
You remember what
I whispered to you
when we were kids in the pool.
And it seems that you do, too.
Bien sur.
But it was not
until just now
that I recognized you: Max.
I said no.
What, "No, no, no, no."
No way. You are not
de-stemming those grapes.
But this is the way
I've always done things, you know.
We want structure
and color for the wine.
Leaving the stems on
when we press will give it a kick in the ass.
And the wine will taste like rocket fuel.
No way!
You are not de-stemming
those grapes.
All acids and tannins.
Oh, you say acid and tannins...
Yes, I say tannins...
I say flavor and cojones, you know,
- Barolo super Tuscans.
- Whoa.
That's what's selling out there.
Not some wimpy wine from Louveron!
Ah, Max.
Thank God you're here.
I will not work with this
mad person jamais! Never!
I love her, this woman, she...
she's like Henry, with a nice ass.
Oh...
I can't deal with this guy, Max.
What is it with the French?
Oh, and, uh, by the way,
you were running low
on green ink,
so I bought you some more.
- Never know.
You might want to write
a letter or something.
Yes?
Max, how's Christie?
How's the sale going, Charlie?
Apartments in this bracket
shift in a blink.
I'm very confident of getting
you more than you paid for it.
Bullshit, Charlie.
If you don't give me
a 40% yield,
you're off the gig, Sunshine.
You got me?
Max, you do realize, of course,
it's not going to last
down there, don't you?
You don't say.
And as impossible
as it may seem,
the very things that are
so unique and sexy now,
will soon be the dread
of your day-to-day existence.
And after a few months of eating
and drinking and sleeping,
and shagging, what have you got
to look forward to, huh?
Boredom.
I mean, what are you going
to do, write a book? Hmm?
Max, I'm your best friend,
and I'm telling you, you won't last.
We'll see about that, Charlie.
Okay, okay, okay.
Like this, l-I...
You know, that was Charlie
on the phone...
Ah, no, no, no.
Un arbre.
Oiseau.
So, uh, are you an actual rapper?
No, he's the rapper.
I'm the manager.
Mm.
I'm Jasminda, by the way.
Gemma for short.
Bollocks!
Oh.
Shh.
- Viva La Armstrong!
- Be in touch.